Conduct of life -- Fiction; New York (N.Y.) -- History -- 19th century -- Fiction; Orphans -- Fiction; Runaway teenagers -- Fiction
“It isn't very pleasant,” said Paul, rather soberly.
“And that woman--Mrs. Mudge--she looks as if she might be a regular
spitfire, isn't she?”
“Rather so.”
“I only wish the old gentleman--meaning of course, the Squire--would
take you to live with me. I want a fellow to play with. But I say, Paul,
go and get your hat, and we'll go out for a walk.”
“I don't know what Mrs. Mudge will say,” said Paul, who had just come
from turning the handle of a churn.
“Just call Mrs. Mudge, and I'll manage it.”
Mrs. Mudge being summoned, made her appearance at the door.
“I presume, ma'am,” said Ben, confidently, “you will have no objection
to Paul's taking a walk with me while I deliver the message I am
entrusted with.”
“Certainly,” said Mrs. Mudge, rather unwillingly, but not venturing to
refuse.
“It takes me to come it over the old lady,” said Ben, when they were out
of hearing.
“Now, we'll go a fishing.”
V.
A CRISIS.
Before sunrise the next morning Paul was awakened by a rude shake from
Mr. Mudge, with an intimation that he had better get up, as there was
plenty of work before him.
By the light of the lantern, for as yet it was too dark to dispense with
it, Paul dressed himself. Awakened from a sound sleep, he hardly had
time to collect his thoughts, and it was with a look of bewilderment
that he surveyed the scene about him. As Mrs. Mudge had said, they were
pretty full already, and accordingly a rude pallet had been spread for
him in the attic, of which, with the exception of nocturnal marauders,
he was the only occupant. Paul had not, to be sure, been used to very
superior accommodations, and if the bed had not been quite so hard, he
would have got along very well. As it was he was separated from slats
only by a thin straw bed which did not improve matters much. It was
therefore with a sense of weariness which slumber had not dissipated,
that Paul arose at the summons of Mr. Mudge.
When he reached the kitchen, he found that gentleman waiting for him.
“Do you know how to milk?” was his first salutation.
“I never learned,” said Paul.
“Then you'll have to, in double-quick time,” was the reply, “for I don't
relish getting up so early, and you can take it off my hands.”
The two proceeded to the barn, where Paul received his first lesson in
this important branch of education.
Mr. Mudge kept five cows. One might have thought he could have afforded
a moderate supply of milk to his boarders, but all, with the exception
of a single quart, was sold to the milkman who passed the door every
morning.
After breakfast, which was on the same economical plan with the dinner
of the day previous, Paul was set to work planting potatoes, at which he
was kept steadily employed till the dinner-hour.
Poor Paul! his back ached dreadfully, for he had never before done any
harder work than trifling services for his father. But the inexorable
Mr. Mudge was in sight, and however much he wished, he did not dare to
lay aside his hoe even for a moment.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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